Girls und Panzer: The Corsairs
by BlitzVonKrieg
Summary: It has been eight months since two events: Oorai's tournament victory, and the end of an Aerial Combat Team pilot from an all-boys school. Unable to fly in combat ever again, young Bastian Falkenrath makes it his mission to get back in combat somehow. His solution? Tankery. How will this fighter ace do on the ground? He'll have to get some tanks first to find out!
1. Victory in Flames

Smoke poured from the engine, flames beginning to lick at the straight-six's cowling between the Fokker 's twin machine-guns. One was inoperable from a direct hit that had severed the ammunition belt. The other was jamming easily for some reason, and Bastian suspected it was particles from the smoke clogging the mechanism, or stresses from the maneuvers he'd been doing to try and avoid being hit. Unfortunately, those attempts had failed.

Lieutenant Falkenrath – Bastian when he was out of uniform, being addressed by a superior, or talking to a friend – knew that his warbird was in its last throes. The engine would soon give out, and the guns were nearly useless. He could maneuver fine, but his airspeed was steadily falling. Despite it all, however, he was grinning. Jerking the plane this way and that, he forced it to keep airborne, and to keep his opponent focused on him and him alone. Induced target fixation was the goal.

Five hundred feet, directly to his six o'clock was Major Heinrich Hartman – the highest scoring Ace of the Fifth Annual Aerial Combat Tournament. With seventy-eight confirmed kills, he was intent on following in the footsteps of the late, great, Manfred von Richthofen; better known as the Red Baron. Richthofen was Major Hartman's childhood hero, and this was the match that would grant him the final two kills to bring him to the level of his hero. How better to end the tournament?

Unfortunately, Hartman had studied every good thing about Richthofen's tactics, but also had the same downfalls. He had learned from history, oh he certainly had, but he had not learned from the mistakes – only the parts that showed how to be successful. His mind was fixed on getting his seventy-ninth kill, downing this wounded bird, and being one step closer to his hero. Flying at treetop level, his Fokker Dr.I triplane screamed along behind the battered , and with every turn came closer and closer to lining up a final blow.

Five hundred feet to Hartman's six o'clock was Captain Matthias Scott, the leading Ace of Team Corsair, and the all-star of Corsair High. He also happened to be Bastian's closest friend and brother in arms. Matthias was the Squadron Commander of Team Corsair, and Bastian was his first wingman. They had known each-other since they were in grade school, and always had each-other's backs growing up. From bullies to boyhood adventures, through thick and thin, they'd stuck together.

Now Matthias was feeling pressure like never before. His best friend was in dire need of his help, or he was going down, and Matt had no idea if he could knock Hartman from the sky without his friend. They were a team, a well oiled machine, and most of Matthias' kills were thanks to his friend. He set up the shots, and Matthias took them. Without Bastian to distract their opponents, he would have only had, at best, half of the fifty kills he'd gotten throughout the tournament.

With Bastian's trailing smoke, flames beginning to issue forth, and the plane's motions becoming increasingly sluggish, it was now or never. As the three planes neared an open field, Matthias climbed above, taking his position above the battle and then angling slightly downward to get his airspeed back. Bastian broke into the clearing first, followed quickly by Hartman. The wounded , an aircraft that had been hailed once as the greatest fighter aircraft of its generation, stopped jinking around.

The fight was over. Hartman smirked, taking his time to line up on Bastian's aircraft, mentally patting himself on the back and buying his seventy-ninth commemorative cup as he did so. Just before he pulled the trigger, a hail of bullets tore into his upper wing, twin machine-guns, and the big rotary engine on the front of his Dr.I. Oil and coolant spewed out from the damaged engine's ruptured lines, fire blew out from the cowling, and the upper wing came apart.

However, the attack didn't stop. Matthias pressed, pouring boxes of bullets into the damaged crate. Ten seconds later, the Dr.I slammed nose-first into the ground. The winning streak of Dresden Academy's Team Wulf had been brought to an end after four years – as well as it being an upset victory. Despite their obvious prowess, most people hadn't believed that the Corsairs could pull it off. After all, they'd never made it past the third round of the tournament before. Most thought that them making the fifth round – the finals – had been a fluke and nothing more. This had proved them wrong.

Matthias grinned as he flew over the wreckage, doing a victory roll for those that were watching back home. Then he flew up alongside his wingman, wingtip to wingtip, and gave a thumbs up – which was replied to with a victory-V from his friend. After a moment, the two of them looked around and Captain Scott shouted over the noise of the engines.

"Shouldn't the simulator have shut down by now? It doesn't normally stay on this long after a match."

Bastian shrugged, "Computers have problems, Matt. Especially when the programming has been revamped."

"I guess that's true." Matthias nodded. Another minute passed, and the virtual reality simulator still hadn't kicked them back out to reality. He was about to speak when the world around them suddenly froze.

"What the hell...?" Bastian said as he glanced around, the planes frozen in the air. The only things that could move were him and Matt – the engines weren't even turning.

"Search me, Bastian." Matthias said, looking around as well. "Any idea what this is?"

"A hell of a bug in the system, I'd say." Bastian replied. Not but a moment later though, he suddenly felt a shooting pain in the back of his head. It built and built, and then shot forward, right behind his eyes, and then down his body all the way to his toes. He screamed and writhed in pain – and then suddenly the world went black.

==X==X==X==

When he finally came to, the first thing that greeted him was a blinding light that seemed to cause him the same pain as before. His eyes clenched shut, and he instinctively pulled the sheets over his head to block the light.

"Bastian!" The voice was familiar, but muffed due to the sheets – not that he was trying to focus on the source at the moment. "Crap! Hang on, I'll kill the lights. Dammit, where's the lights- ah! There we are." A couple clicking sounds in rapid succession, then. "Alright, you can open your eyes. I'm sorry, man. Nobody expected you awake yet."

Slowly the sheets were pulled down and Bastian opened his eyes, the darkness soothing. Looking around, he found the source of the voice and smiled. "Hey Matthias." He said, then slowly sat up in the bed. Looking around, he could see that he was in the infirmary. "What the hell happened? I remember Heinrich getting knocked down... and then some bug in the VRS... and then... just a lot of pain."

Matthias nodded slowly, pulling a chair over. "You're right, the VRS had one hell of a bug in it. We won the tournament since the bug kicked in only after we got Heinrich, so Dresden can't argue over it. But..." He sighed, "...I have some bad news, Bastian."

"Bad news?" Bastian asked, "We just stole the title from the Wulf Squadron! What could possibly be bad about that?"

"About that? Nothing." Matthias grinned, but it quickly faded. "The bad news concerns you, Bastian."

Bastian was quiet for a moment, then asked at length, "Well... what is it?"

"Bastian... the glitch had to do with the pod you were in. Some sort of power surge or something. It caused an overload and..." Matthias ran a hand back through his blonde hair, his other hand holding his flight officer's cap. "You're done flying, at least in combat, Bastian."

Bastian's eyes went wide, "Done flying? Are you crazy?! Yeah, it hurt, but I'm fine now! Hell, I'll go toe to toe with you to prove it!"

Matthias shook his head slowly. "You're right about being fine, but only because the neural pathways that the virtual reality pods use to connect to us for the simulations aren't needed for your body to function. When the overload happened, the resulting power surge fried those pathways. They can't be repaired, Bastian. It's not that you don't have the skill, it's that you can't physically connect to the pods anymore. With those pathways destroyed, your dogfighting career is over. And so is mine."

Bastian was stunned by it all, and sorrowful over his own loss, but what caught his attention most was the last bit. "No... Matt, you can't... you're the Squadron Leader, not to mention our highest scoring ace! The team needs you!"

"No, it doesn't. Not like that. Not anymore. If I can't have you as a wingman, there isn't much point to me going into combat." Matthias grinned, "Our team has plenty of good pilots, but none of them would work as well with me as you did. We're a team, and I'm no good without you." He paused a moment, then pulled a folded piece of paper from his long coat. "By the way, these are your new orders, straight from the Commandant of Cadets himself."

Bastian blinked, "Straight from Uncle Blitz, huh?" He asked as he took the paper and opened it. It was a piece of Krieg Incorporated letterhead, and the message wasn't overly long:

_Dear Bastian,_

_I saw your match. Brilliant piloting, boy! Damned good job! I congratulate you on a victory well-earned. I've also heard about your injury, and I'm so very sorry for what happened. I designed and tested those pods myself. This is the first major malfunction that we've ever had. Near as I can figure, the new programming's patch wasn't thorough enough to properly interface with the pods. I know this doesn't make you feel any better about what happened, but I'm already working on how to fix the pods._

_Unfortunately, my dear nephew, I have the unpleasant duty to suspend you from aerial combat operations due to the injury. If you wish to remain as part of the Aerial Combat Club, however, you may do so as a flight instructor. I know it isn't as thrilling, but it is at least a way to get into the air – and from what I recall, you prefer the real thing to the simulators anyway._

_-Blitz Freiherr von Krieg,_

_Commandant of Cadets,_

_Corsair Boy's High School_

Bastian read the letter once more and sighed, shaking his head. "Well, that settles that."

"Yeah... I know it must be hard, Bastian, but... if you do the flight instructor gig, at least we can still work together. That's what I'm going to be doing now for the club." Matthias said, offering a small smile. "What do you say?"

"I say..." He blew out a breath, "Let me think it over." He gave a small smile of his own, then glanced toward the clock on the wall. "In the meantime, isn't it almost time for the final Tankery match?"

"Oh yeah..." Matthias said as he glanced toward the clock, then went and got the remote from the counter under the television in the corner. "Should be starting in about five minutes. Want to watch it?" 

"Definitely." Bastian grinned, "Cute girls, badass vehicles, what's not to like?"

Matthias chuckled as he flipped on the TV. "You're in better spirits all of a sudden."

"I was reminded of the cute girls." Bastian smirked, "And the things I'd like to-"

"Okay!" Matthias snapped, "I don't EVEN want to hear it from you, playboy!" He shook his head then, going through the channels on the TV until he found the right one – just as the two teams were bowing to one another. "Hard to believe that Oorai made it this far, isn't it?"

"Means they're very good, very lucky, or had honorable opponents with bad luck." Bastian smirked a little, "Maybe a little of all of that, even."

"Who do you think is going to win?"

"Always root for the underdog, Matt." Bastian grinned, "Even if they don't win, they're sure to give one hell of a show."


	2. Rising from the Ashes

The flight line was clear for the day, as Corsair High sailed along the coast. The sun was headed toward sunset, and Bastian leaned on the railing of the observation platform overlooking the flight line. Short dark hair ruffled as the wind came across, his flight officer's cap held in his hands. Turning it over and over, slowly, his hazel eyes scanned it as if looking for something – though it was more out of habit than anything else.

Eight months earlier, the Corsair Aerial Combat Team, or Team Corsair, had cinched the victory over Dresden and taken the Fifth Annual Aerial Combat Tournament's final victory. It had been an upset, but the Corsairs had earned it for sure. It was still something that brought him pride, but thinking about it also brought him sadness – even bitterness at times. The victory would be forever tainted by the fact that he could never participate in another tournament, and his best friend had hung up his title of Squadron Leader so that they could still work together.

Of course, their new positions as Flight Instructors did come with the benefit of a promotion – Matthias to Major, and Bastian himself to Captain. This of course meant that they were still the superior officers to the rest of the team, even if they were no longer going into combat. Still, a promotion wasn't the same as combat – something that Bastian yearned for. Sure, the training aircraft were the real ones, and for simple flying he actually did prefer them, but combat was in his blood. Without it, he didn't really know what he was going to do with himself.

Glancing to the side as he heard the bulkhead door to the bridge open, he saw Matthias step through. Just like always, the emerald-eyed blond was dressed in his long coat, flight uniform, and flight officer's cap – the cap tilted just slightly back and to the side while not on duty.

"I thought I'd find you here." Matthias said as he stepped over to the railing beside his friend, resting his hands on it. "Not wearing your uniform today?"

Bastian sighed, glancing at the dress uniform that he wore. It was an officer's uniform, and he still wore his long coat, but that obviously wasn't what Matthias meant. "Just wasn't feeling like it today."

"You sure look glum." The blond returned, leaning more on the railing beside his friend, "What's the matter? I mean... besides the obvious."

The former fighter pilot shrugged. "I don't know... I guess I just don't feel right. Sure, yeah, I still get to fly, and I get to make sure the newbies know what they're doing, but... Something is missing."

"The adrenaline, you mean?"

"Yeah... how'd you know?"

"I haven't been in combat, either, remember?" Matt chuckled, giving a playful punch to Bastian's shoulder. "Don't forget, I'm over here suffering too."

Bastian just smirked at him. "Yeah, but you get to hang it over my head."

"Oh, I've only done that a couple times." Matt grinned.

Bastian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Still doesn't make it fair."

"Pirate."

Bastian laughed. "Pirate? Please. If you were a girl, they'd shove you off to St. Gloriana."

"If I was a girl and they did that, I'd quickly become a lesbian."

Now they both laughed.

After a moment, the two let out a breath, gazing out across the water. Bastian spoke.

"Y'know, I kinda wonder something."

"What?" Matthias asked, glancing toward him.

"Is Tankery a girls-only sport?" Bastian said, still looking out across the waves.

Matthias turned his head completely to look at him. "And just exactly why are you wondering that?"

Bastian shrugged a bit, but a tiny grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Just curious."

"I know that look... you have an idea, don't you?"

"Don't worry, Matt." Bastian said as he turned, heading for the door. "It's not _too_ crazy."

==X==X==X==

Three hours later, Bastian sat in the Commandant of Cadets' office. Said Commandant also happened to be his Uncle, and one of the most wealthy men on the planet. Blitz Freiherr von Krieg owned Krieg Incorporated, a company that had subsidiaries in so many different kinds of business that few people knew just exactly the extent of its reach. Trillions of dollars poured into the company's coffers annually, and billions went into accounts in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland. Untraceable billions of dollars.

Despite the massive corporation and the locations that the money was deposited, the business practices were straightforward, fair, and above board. Blitz had fought long and hard to keep the company legitimate and respectable, and for that he had be rewarded with contracts from all over the globe. Of course, the impressive technology at the company's disposal – of which, the virtual reality pods and systems used by the annual Aerial Combat Tournament were only one example – also aided the company's impressive reputation.

The fact that Bastian had been injured had been both a nightmare and a blessing. It had been a nightmare for Blitz because he'd designed the system himself, wrote every bit of coding and checked it multiple times. Bastian, not being a slouch, had often helped check the coding as well, but Blitz still felt responsible for what happened to his nephew. It had been a blessing, however, for the free – and sympathetic – PR that the company had gotten.

Still, the request that had come from his nephew was one that Blitz had thought strange at first. He had wanted to know if Tankery, what was also known as Sensha-do, was female gender-specific. That is, could only females participate? After about half an hour of back and forth about why Bastian wanted to know – getting nowhere during that period of time, though having a feeling he knew why – Blitz had set to work. Since then, his studies on the subject had finally reached a conclusion.

"Simply put, the answer is no." Blitz finally said, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "I can't find anything that says Tankery is restricted in terms of gender. Era of vehicle, ammunition type, safety modifications for vehicles, etc. is mentioned... but nothing says only girls can participate." The Commandant himself was a handsome man who appeared to be in his late twenties, with dark hair and hazel eyes, much like his late sister's son. He also wore a similar uniform, but with different ranking.

"So then why is it that it is treated like a girl's sport?" Bastian asked, seated on the other side of Blitz's desk. "If either gender can participate, why do only girls do it?"

Blitz chuckled. "The long and short of it? It was directed more toward girls. Boys have all kinds of sports that they can, and are even expected, to play. Girls... not so much." He shrugged, "If you really stop and think about it, girls have their own leagues in similar sports. Soccer and basketball for example – there's really no reason they couldn't play those sports with the boys, but they're kept separate anyway. So... a rough and tumble sport like Tankery, in a way, makes sense to be targeted toward girls. To some extent, it gave girls an excuse to play soldier like the boys used to do as kids."

"So... why _don't_ boys participate?"

"Ah! See, now that's an entirely different question – but it has a similar root. You see, being directed toward girls meant people initially saw it as a girl's sport. With that mindset, boys didn't _want_ to participate. They stuck to their sports, and the girls got Tankery. To top that off, no boy's school has yet formed a Tankery team because of the perception of it being a feminine sport – which, really, is kind of funny if you stop and think about how the tanks used in the sport originated."

"True that..." Bastian nodded a bit. "So... what if a boy's school wanted to form a team? What would the process be?"

"Pretty simple, really. They would have to have at least five armored vehicles before the beginning of the tournament, enough personnel to crew them, and an official request to participate in the tournament filed with the committee. Why?" Blitz asked, quirking a brow at his nephew, "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking, Nephew?"

"If you think that I'm thinking about Corsair High forming its own Tankery team, then yes Uncle, I'm thinking what you think I'm thinking." Bastian grinned, "And you just confirmed that we can do it."

Blitz sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Bastian... do you realize the costs involved in that? We don't have any tanks. And the ones that are out there are either owned by a team already, are part of a private collection, or are museum pieces. Most teams aren't willing to sell, and the collectors and museums don't really keep the tanks in good condition. They look nice on the outside, but half the time they're really just sitting there rusting away."

"How much does it usually cost?"

"Tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of dollars. Depending on how rare, and the condition, some go for over a million. Parts are a nightmare." Blitz shook his head, "A new Tankery team is something that requires a lot of backing, Bastian."

"I had a feeling." Bastian smirked a bit, "Good thing we have hundreds of _billions_ in personal accounts in the Caymans and Switzerland, isn't it?"

Blitz gave him a flat look. "You want to spend personal money on this? Really?"

"Why not? I know you only give the school a certain budget. Why not use our own money?"

"Because there's no reason to, Bastian. We just bought twelve Bf-109Gs and four Fw-190A8s to use as training aircraft for this year's tournament. That was the entire budget. Just to keep our Aerial Combat Team going we're going to have to cut spending in a couple of areas."

"Or... tap into personal funds."

"Bastian..."

"Uncle!" Bastian finally snapped, "Quit with the penny pinching! Now is not the time to be stingy!"

Blitz stared for a moment, then tilted his head slightly and regarded his nephew for a moment. "Bastian... is there something more to this?"

Bastian swallowed thickly, averting his eyes as he answered. "No... why?"

"Because you never would have brought this up if you could still fly." Blitz said as he sat up in his chair, resting his arms on the desk. "I know you, boy. You're a pilot through and through, not some tanker. You soar through the sky on metal wings, not plod along the ground on tracks. So tell me, what has gotten into you?"

The boy was quiet for a moment, looking down at his boots. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair and looked up. "I want to _matter_ again, Uncle. I... I want to _be_ someone. Do something worthwhile. I can't fly anymore, not in combat anyway. I feel like I've lost who I am. Maybe with this... just maybe... I can get that piece of myself back."

Blitz nodded slightly, knowing that all the things he could possibly say wouldn't matter. Comfort wasn't what the boy was asking for. It wasn't what he needed. He needed to be out there again. He needed the thrill, the action, and the challenge of it all. The two of them weren't so different. Finally, he blew out a breath. "Okay."

Bastian looked at him and blinked. "What?"

"Okay." Blitz smiled, "We'll do it. Or... we'll try."

"Really?!"

"You bet – I'll start on the paperwork. You... well, you'll be team captain since you brought this to me – and that comes with a promotion." Blitz smirked a little, "Same rank, really, but since air forces skip a lower rank, their officer ranks are actually one below regular army ranks. You'll still be a Captain, but you'll be on par with Matthias' Major ranking. Your part of this, however, will be getting a team gathered. Remember, we'll have to have at least five vehicles, and enough to crew them all properly. That responsibility falls on you. The tanks, and the personnel. Just get a requisition form filled out each time you have a specific tank in mind, and I'll see that things get taken care of. Sound good?"

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Good. You're dismissed, Captain."


	3. News for the Champions

Ever since the tournament, Oorai's sensha-do team had been receiving a fair amount of celebrity status around the school. With good reason, of course, considering that they had essentially saved the school from being closed down. Miho, however, was wishing that people would forget about it already. Why couldn't everyone just go back to how things were? She hated it. The attention, that is – she liked the people, just... the attention felt unwarranted.

It seemed anymore that the only place she could escape the prying eyes of schoolmates was at the maintenance shed. Though, oddly, that part didn't bug her. She enjoyed spending time with her team, and something about being with their vehicles was calming. Had anyone told her that's how things would end up a year ago, she would have thought them out of their minds. For a while, in her heart, she'd held a grudge against the student council – but now she was thankful for what they'd done.

That didn't mean that she was happy with them for how they had gone about doing what they did, but she did understand why they'd done it. That helped in the long run. She could respect them for wanting to save their beloved school. After all, she was one of the students that had grown attached to it – how could she hold it against them for doing what they'd done? A smile crossed her lips as she looked out the open shed doors and saw the three of them "cleaning" the Hetzer. Somehow it had devolved into a water fight with the hose and a couple of buckets – and per the norm, Momo was the only one that seemed unhappy about it.

Chuckling lightly, she looked toward the other teams. Duck, Rabbit, Mallard, and Anteater were getting ready to head out for a little two-on-two practice match. They were the half of the team that needed the most practice, as had become blatantly apparent in the last couple of matches in the tournament. Loyal to a fault they might have been, but they still were behind Anglerfish, Turtle, Hippo, and Leopon.

She had to admit that the last of those had truly surprised her in the finals. Then again, the Tiger (P) was the heaviest tank they had, and only the Automotive Club had gotten the temperamental beast to continue moving. Unfortunately, even after eight months of trial and error, they still hadn't worked the kinks out of it. Despite that, they had managed to make it less temperamental overall. It still had its problems, but with the crew it had, it did just fine.

"Miho..." Hana's soft voice broke into Miho's thoughts, and she turned to look at her elegant friend. "...Do you have any idea where Saori is?"

Looking down where Hana and Yukari sat on front of their Pz IV H, she shook her head slightly. "No idea, Hana. I haven't been all that concerned, but maybe I should be. She's never been this late before." She glanced down inside the tank, grinning as she saw the sleeping form of Mako. Then she looked back down to her friends from the turret. "Saori is late, and Mako was here before any of us. The whole day is upside down, isn't it?"

Yukari touched a finger to her chin, leaning back a little and resting the back of her head against the tank's barrel. Thinking for a moment, she then spoke. "Could she be sick? Maybe something at lunch didn't agree with her?"

"I don't think so..." Hana said as she thought about it, "...she seemed fine. In fact, she said she was going to meet us here."

"Was she going to be doing something first? Did she say?" Miho asked.

"She mentioned something this morning about getting information about the list of teams for the upcoming tournament." It was Mako's voice, and Miho looked down inside. "Maybe that's where she is." And with that, she abruptly drifted off again.

Standing upright once more, Miho climbed out of the turret and sat on it, next to the base of the barrel. "If that's true, I wonder what's taking her so long."

As if on cue, a shout came from outside. "Miho!" And of course, it was Saori. "Miiiihooooo!" She called out, running inside the shed, flailing about with a few pieces of paper in her hands. "Have you heard?! Have you?!"

"Heard what?" Miho blinked at her friend's excitement, "What is it?"

Saori was practically giddy, bouncing on her feet and spinning around as she clutched the papers to her chest suddenly, "It must be fate!"

"What must be fate, Saori?" Hana asked gently, tilting her head slightly with a puzzled look.

"You act like you just got a boyfriend." Yukari smiled, "Did you?"

That made Saori pause, then pout, and hang her head. "No..." Then just as quick she was bright again, "But I do have some amazing news!" She beamed.

"Well... what is it?" Miho prodded.

Saori practically squealed. "There's going to be a boy's team this year!"

That got everyone's attention in the vicinity, and soon enough Hippo, Turtle, and Leopon teams made their way over, curious to see what all this fuss was about – and if they'd heard right. When they all gathered around, Saori felt giddy at having the gossip for them all.

"A boy's team?" Erwin asked, raising a brow and crossing her arms, "Are you sure you heard right?"

"Yeah... what boy would compete in sensha-do? It's a feminine sport." Anzu added.

Saori grinned. "I don't have a list of names or anything, but the school is Corsair High."

"Corsair High... Corsair High..." Momo said softly, thinking about where she might have heard of it, then looked to Anzu. "Isn't that the international boy's-only school? The one on the old aircraft carrier?"

Anzu, glanced upward, tapping her chin. "I think so, now that you mention it." She looked to Momo, "They're the ones that won the first tier of the Aerial Combat Tournament last year. If I remember right, one of their pilots was injured during the system's shutdown sequence. Can't dogfight anymore."

"Actually, that is the one name that I've got." Saori beamed, "And you're right. His name is Bastian Falkenrath. I did a little snooping, and it turns out that he's been a flight instructor since then, teaching the new members of the team. Team Corsair is entering both the first and second combat tiers this year, since they bought a squadron's worth of World War Two era aircraft." She waved her hand a bit then, "But that's not the important part. The important part is that Bastian is going to be the Captain of the Corsair High sensha-do team."

"A pilot as their team captain?" Hana asked curiously, then looked to Miho. "What do you make of that?"

"I... don't really know." Miho shrugged, "I don't know much about dogfighting, but from what I know, they're usually alone in their planes. If he's the team Captain, then he's probably going to be a tank commander as well. He might be able to Captain the team if he's any good at tactics, but... using a tank is going to be new to him. Even if he's good at tactics, trying to manage his own tank might distract him."

"So... should we be worried then?" Nakajima asked curiously, glancing over toward the Tiger (P). "Do we have any idea what they'll be using to compete?"

"I don't think we have to worry." Saori grinned mischievously. "They don't even have any tanks yet."

"They don't have any tanks yet?" Yukari blinked, "How can they even be a sensha-do team?"

"Probationary period." Miho answered, "Remember how we started? We made the announcement before we had tanks or a full team too. So long as they can get the minimum requirements met in time, they'll be able to compete in the tournament."

"I wonder who their sensha-do instructor will be." Erwin said offhand, getting looks from everyone, "Think about it. It's an all-boys school. Are there any male sensha-do instructors? Would they allow a woman to teach at an all-boys school if there aren't?"

Those questions were ones that nobody had any answers for.

A few more moments of chatter amongst the girls, and then the teams went back to what they had been doing – though remained curious about the boys' team. As the four Oorai tanks that were intent upon practicing began to move out, Miho let her mind drift. She could feel a challenge coming, and while she would never admit it... she was excited.


	4. Scraping the Barrel

It had been a week since the announcement that Corsair High would be competing in this year's sensha-do tournament, and Bastian had yet to acquire a single vehicle for the team. A list had been compiled of possible acquisitions about two days ago, but the former fighter pilot couldn't decide what vehicles he wanted. He had, essentially, a blank check – but a blank check didn't get things done much faster. It broadened his options, but also made the choices more difficult.

He had managed to divide the original list into three smaller ones – based mostly on the amount of repairs that the vehicles would need, and their projected restoration time. Even so, he gravitated toward some of the vehicles that took longer to restore. The ones in decent shape were usually the lighter armed and armored vehicles, most of which wouldn't be able to stand up to the vehicles used by many of the teams during the tournament.

Sitting in the officer's lounge, Bastian glanced toward the clock. It was nearing midnight and he still hadn't made any choices. That fact aggravated him to no end, and clouded his mind that much more. He scowled as he looked over the lists, and finally stood, stretched, and walked over to the radio. It looked like an old standup jukebox, but the reality was that it was a dual system, and if you switched it over it played the school's radio station – aptly named "Pirate Radio".

He smirked as he flicked it on, and immediately he heard the DJ.

"Hey there all my fine feathered tricorn wearing comrades, this is Ensign Airwave, and coming up I've got one last hit of Alestorm for ya before I'm outta here. After that Knight Owl will be taking the helm of our lovely little radio station on the sea to give you candle-burners a little wake-up music for those last minute assignments! I'll be back starting tomorrow at my regular time and regular place. Now, here's our 'end of day' tradition here on Pirate Radio - Alestorm's _Scraping the Barrel_. Over and I'm _out_!"

_For many a year we have traveled the seas,_

_Singin' songs about pirates and all their misdeeds,_

_Stories of treasure and great undead foes,_

_Just a day in the life of a man that I know-_

_Your legendary prowess in drinking much beer,_

_Recorded in song for all people to hear,_

_But many have asked where we're next gonna sail,_

_The answer lies deep in a barrel of ale!_

As the song began, Bastian made his way back to the table and took a deep breath before beginning to look over the lists again. By the time that the song was over, he still couldn't make up his mind, and he ran a hand through his hair.

At the same time, the door to the officer's lounge opened, and in stepped Matthias. "I've been looking for you everywhere, Bastian. Didn't see you at dinner tonight. What's going on?"

Bastian looked up and gave a fake grin. "Oh, not much, just building a world-beating Tankery team."

Matt quirked a brow. "And what all do you have selected for it?" He asked as he stepped over, looking at the blank requisition forms. "Anything yet?"

Bastian shook his head. "Not a damned thing. I can't make up my mind. I divided the lists up, but all the vehicles I really want might not be done in time for the tournament due to the time the restoration will take. There are a few that might be ready by then that I'd like to have, but we wouldn't get a lot of practice time in them. The ones we'd get a lot of practice in, however, aren't very powerful. They're early-war models that can't punch above their weight class like we'd need them to."

Matthias looked at the lists. "Which of these three lists has the ones that will take too long, and which one has the ones that won't get much practice."

"That one's too long, and that one is too little practice." Bastian said as he pointed toward them.

"Mind if I take a look at them?"

Bastian handed them over and Matthias glanced at them for about a second before tossing both lists in the trash.

"Now, _pick_." Matthias said, and pointed to the short list of vehicles that were in good shape. "Screw the heavier equipment. You're a fighter pilot, Bastian. Think like one."

Bastian thought first to protest, but stopped himself. Matthias was his best friend, knew him for longer, and better, than just about anyone else. He must have had a reason to do what he did – and it did narrow the choices considerably. Looking over the shorter list, he pondered on what Matthias meant by thinking like a fighter pilot. Then his mind began catching things that it hadn't before. Things that translated well in both aircraft and tanks. Power to weight ratios, top speed, acceleration, maneuverability and firepower.

Going down the list, he began to cross off the vehicles that he immediately found a distaste for. The slow vehicles were off the list at the start – including a Hetzer, which he was sure many would have been tempted by considering the amount of firepower it commanded over the other vehicles, and its sloped armor. Despite that big bonus, its drawbacks were apparent: slow speed, poor maneuverability, limited penetration of its heavy cannon due to the lower velocity rounds, and while the armor was sloped, it was also thin. A higher velocity round could knock it out easily.

Next on the chopping block, much to his initial dismay, were the available heavy tanks. Their power to weight ratios were horrible, and while their armor was masterful, their main armament was underpowered without being upgraded, which would take time. Fortunately, he hadn't really liked any of the ones that were in good condition anyway – but this also entirely eliminated heavy tanks from their team. His best hope for serious firepower was now left to medium tanks and tank destroyers.

Said hope was cut to the quick as he began to go through the mediums and tank destroyers. Most of the mediums had good armor and decent power to weight ratios, but their main armament was underpowered just like the heavy tanks. One alone stood out to him, however: a Panzer III with a short-barrel 75mm gun. The armor was somewhat lacking compared to the other mediums, but everything else he wanted was wonderful – and he was willing to bet that if it could handle the short-barrel 75mm, it could probably be rigged with a long-barrel version after a little tweaking.

After a moment of going over its specifications, he came to the decision that he wanted it, and wrote up the requisition form. Attached to it he put the specifications of the vehicle so that it could be put in the file. They'd have to order ammunition for it as well, and extra parts to use for repairs, so it was best to have the vehicle's specs on hand somewhere – why not with the requisition form? Setting that one off to the side, he continued on down the list as Matt picked up the form and looked over the specs.

The remaining mediums were out of the question, so he crossed them off and began looking at the tank destroyers that he hadn't already written off as poor quality. Unfortunately, many of them had the same problem as the mediums, or their own unique failing in that they were often more fragile than one would think. Most tank destroyers had thin armor as they had started off simply as infantry support vehicles and stayed that way for some time. He was almost done crossing them off when he came to one that he liked.

It was a StuG III Ausf B, and as he went over the specs he found the machine to be practically a work of art. Its failing was the short-barrel 75mm gun it sported, but even that wasn't all bad. The StuG and the Panzer III used the same chassis, engine, and gun – commonality of parts was a wonderful thing, especially since it meant a commonality of ammunition for their guns. He was sure that a long-barrel version of its cannon could also be mounted, and thus the StuG was on his next requisition form.

From there he had only light tanks to choose from, and he scowled a bit at the options. He didn't much like the thought of having to use them, but he had to until he could get something better. Though, as he began looking them over he began to notice something about them. Yes, their armor was comparatively weak compared to even medium tanks, but their power to weight ratios were incredibly good, and some of them had a grand top speed. These he handled differently.

The lightest were the first ones to be stricken from the list. Things like the T1 Cunningham were eliminated outright, and those that were similar – tankettes mostly – were eliminated. By the time that he was done, he only had three options left. Two of them were the same type of tank, but with different weapons. Both were the Pz Kpfw 35 (t) – but one was armed with a 20mm auto-cannon, and the other was armed with a 37mm gun. Neither had much punch to it, but they would have to do.

The final tank was a Pz Kpfw 38 (t) nA, and it was armed with a 50mm gun. He wasn't sure what it was about the tank, but something about it was, in a word, perfect – at least in his eyes. A top speed of over 60kph, a decent cannon for its class, enough armor that it could survive some powerful hits, and maneuverability that was hard to match for a multi-ton vehicle. In his heart he knew from the moment that he looked it over that this one was going to be his. It was almost funny – he'd dreamed of a big, powerful tank... and now he wanted the one that others probably thought to run over instead of shoot at.

The final three requisition forms were filled out, and he put them together with the other documents that he'd be handing over to his Uncle in the morning.

"So what now, Bastian?" Matthias asked as Bastian stood.

"Well, now I have to get another eighteen people to crew these tanks."

"No, you only need seventeen..." Matt corrected.

"Seventeen?" Bastian asked, "Why seventeen?"

"Because you already have two. Yourself, and me – didn't think you'd be getting all the glory, did you?" Matt smirked, "Fat chance. But... that's not what I meant when I asked the initial question."

"Then what did you mean?" Bastian asked curiously.

"I meant tonight." Matt thumbed toward the clock. "It's after midnight. I'm going to go rack out myself."

"Ah... I'm probably gonna head down to Paddy's. See if he'll gimme a nightcap, and then I'll be racking out too. Gotta hand in the paperwork, and then get a jump on getting those _seventeen_ people."


End file.
